Fic: Little Lies
Title: Little Lies
Rating: NC-17 (This is seriously the porniest thing I've ever written)
Pairings: Batman/Gordon
Warnings: Graphic slashy sex. Spoilers for The Dark Knight. And some bloodplay (It was written for the Kink Meme...need I say any more?)
Disclaimer: Even now, these characters are thanking every god in the heavens that I don't own them
Summary: "You let me think you were dead."
Notes: Once again, written for the wonderful Batman Kink Meme
~*~
Little Lies
This. Moments like this were why he did what he did. He hurt everywhere, blood was trickling down his back from the bullethole between his shoulders, but goddamnit he was alive and fighting and the Joker was being loaded into the back of an armoured truck. Enough firepower to blow a bull elephant to hell was trained on him - the arresting officers were taking no chances.
"Sir?"
Gordon raised an eyebrow at the nervous young officer who'd come to hover self-consciously at his elbow. "Yes?"
"Sir, there's another squad car waiting to take you back to the station."
"Send it on without me. I'll make my own way back." Should probably stop off at home first, he thought, and then grimaced. Barbara's going to kill me.
He watched the flashing red-and-blue lights recede into the distance, and only when they were out of sight did he allow himself to sag wearily against the side of the extremely abused truck that had brought him there. Gingerly he reached around over his shoulder to touch the ragged wound high on his back. His fingers came away bloody.
"Maybe not the best idea I've ever had," Gordon murmured wryly. The blood was black under the dull orange glow of the streetlamps.
"I was just thinking that."
Gordon tensed at the unexpected agreement from behind him, but instinct and experience instantly categorised the low, hoarse voice as friend rather then threat. He turned and stepped into the dark interior of the armoured truck, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the change.
"I know it was dangerous," he told the silent shadows, "But it was the best way to catch him off-guard." A chilly silence from the deeper darkness let him know that Batman didn't agree.
"You could have said something."
"It was too dangerous. We couldn't afford to let anyone outside the department - hell, most people in the department - know." As the silence drew out he felt compelled to add; "I'm sorry if our plans interfered with yours, but it was better this way." It could have been his imagination, but the quiet in the back of the truck seemed to take on an almost pained quality.
Then softly, the voice almost unfamiliar without its usual harsh tone: "You let me think you were dead."
Gordon felt a strange sort of shock run through him. He hadn't thought of it that way for even a moment...it was so easy to forget that beneath the suit was a man. A man who knew him, who had worked with him for the last six months, who - he would have liked to think - liked him. Not once had it occurred to him to wonder how the Batman would react to his 'death'.
"I..." Sudden awareness of the reality of the situation seemed to have robbed him of the ability to form coherent sentences. He tried again. "I'm sorry." There, that was better.
"'Sorry'?" The shadows moved and with no warning he was slammed against the truck's metal wall, a sharp, pained breath hissing out between his teeth as his injuries protested against the rough treatment. "If you had any idea-" the sentence ended in a frustrated noise, and then suddenly he was being kissed, hard and urgent.
Other parts of him which were wholly in favour of the rough treatment enthusiastically sounded their approval of this new development. He responded with every bit as much passion and desperation, all the while hoping that the moaning sound he could hear wasn't coming from him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience raised a hand and timidly but insistently pointed out that he was happily married to a wonderful woman who also happened to be the mother of his children, and he really probably shouldn't be doing this... But by that point his thrillseeking side had joined forces with his libido, and in short order his conscience was bound, gagged, and tucked away in the same dark, forgotten corner as 'self control' and 'common sense'.
So instead of pulling away and making a run for open air and sanity, as was almost certainly the intelligent thing to do, he grabbed a handful of cloak and tried to press himself even closer. In that moment it didn't matter about the police, or the city, or the ongoing war with the criminal element in the face of a hard, hot body moving against his and a quite unfairly talented mouth doing things that felt far too good to be legal.
The adrenaline high of a bust gone right met waves of unadulterated lust coming the other way. His brain was short-circuiting, logical thought quite beyond him, and his slightly fried mind found it no cause for alarm when he was physically turned around: he braced his forearms against the wall and readily acquiesced when a thigh insinuated itself between his legs and nudged them apart. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this, frantic and insensible, body burning with the need for something, anything. His pants were around his ankles and this was quite probably the worst idea he'd ever had, and it didn't matter - nothing mattered except sensation, not the media circus he'd return to or the blood soaking into the back of his shirt.
There was the soft thump-thump of gloves hitting the ground, and his skin tingled in anticipation for the briefest of moments before there were warm, callused hands moving rough and possessive over his hips, chest, back. He felt the sticky-warm wetness of blood - rather a lot of it, he'd be worried if his brain was functioning normally - streaking like comet-trails over his skin in the wake of exploratory fingers. He didn't realise the intent behind it until blood-slick fingers were suddenly and unexpectedly sliding inside him, and he almost cracked his skull on the metal side of the truck as he jerked in pleasure-pain-burning-FUCKyes!
He was burning up from the inside out, the tiniest movement enough to send tremors running through him. He needed...something, he wasn't even sure what, anything. "God, please," he groaned.
And then there was an arm wrapped around his hips, another braced beside his own against the wall, and sweet white-hot almost-pain as Batman...the fucking Batman...bit down hard on the back of his neck and thrust roughly inside him.
Oh fuck, yes, yes, that was it. He felt all of fourteen, gasping and frantic and absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer sensation as he was fucked hard and fast and perfect without any pretense at refinement or restraint. He was torn between the desire for this never to end and the primal, visceral need to come.
Too soon, far too soon, he felt dull tingling and wave after wave of heat spreading through his body, and knew he was close. A convulsive shudder ran through him and without warning he was jerking and gasping for breath, cries torn from his throat as the world went white and imploded. The arm tightened around his waist almost to the point of painfulness and the Batman was coming behind him with a harsh grunt and a shockingly needy moan.
Jim Gordon rested his forehead against the cold, hard metal of the armoured truck and tried to remember how to breathe. He'd just done possibly one of the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life, there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt, and as soon as the afterglow faded this was going to be one really fucking awkward conversation.
And he felt fantastic.
~Fin~
[Okay, the blood-as-lube thing? That took me by surprise a bit. My muse is apparently kinkier than I knew]
Rating: NC-17 (This is seriously the porniest thing I've ever written)
Pairings: Batman/Gordon
Warnings: Graphic slashy sex. Spoilers for The Dark Knight. And some bloodplay (It was written for the Kink Meme...need I say any more?)
Disclaimer: Even now, these characters are thanking every god in the heavens that I don't own them
Summary: "You let me think you were dead."
Notes: Once again, written for the wonderful Batman Kink Meme
~*~
Little Lies
This. Moments like this were why he did what he did. He hurt everywhere, blood was trickling down his back from the bullethole between his shoulders, but goddamnit he was alive and fighting and the Joker was being loaded into the back of an armoured truck. Enough firepower to blow a bull elephant to hell was trained on him - the arresting officers were taking no chances.
"Sir?"
Gordon raised an eyebrow at the nervous young officer who'd come to hover self-consciously at his elbow. "Yes?"
"Sir, there's another squad car waiting to take you back to the station."
"Send it on without me. I'll make my own way back." Should probably stop off at home first, he thought, and then grimaced. Barbara's going to kill me.
He watched the flashing red-and-blue lights recede into the distance, and only when they were out of sight did he allow himself to sag wearily against the side of the extremely abused truck that had brought him there. Gingerly he reached around over his shoulder to touch the ragged wound high on his back. His fingers came away bloody.
"Maybe not the best idea I've ever had," Gordon murmured wryly. The blood was black under the dull orange glow of the streetlamps.
"I was just thinking that."
Gordon tensed at the unexpected agreement from behind him, but instinct and experience instantly categorised the low, hoarse voice as friend rather then threat. He turned and stepped into the dark interior of the armoured truck, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the change.
"I know it was dangerous," he told the silent shadows, "But it was the best way to catch him off-guard." A chilly silence from the deeper darkness let him know that Batman didn't agree.
"You could have said something."
"It was too dangerous. We couldn't afford to let anyone outside the department - hell, most people in the department - know." As the silence drew out he felt compelled to add; "I'm sorry if our plans interfered with yours, but it was better this way." It could have been his imagination, but the quiet in the back of the truck seemed to take on an almost pained quality.
Then softly, the voice almost unfamiliar without its usual harsh tone: "You let me think you were dead."
Gordon felt a strange sort of shock run through him. He hadn't thought of it that way for even a moment...it was so easy to forget that beneath the suit was a man. A man who knew him, who had worked with him for the last six months, who - he would have liked to think - liked him. Not once had it occurred to him to wonder how the Batman would react to his 'death'.
"I..." Sudden awareness of the reality of the situation seemed to have robbed him of the ability to form coherent sentences. He tried again. "I'm sorry." There, that was better.
"'Sorry'?" The shadows moved and with no warning he was slammed against the truck's metal wall, a sharp, pained breath hissing out between his teeth as his injuries protested against the rough treatment. "If you had any idea-" the sentence ended in a frustrated noise, and then suddenly he was being kissed, hard and urgent.
Other parts of him which were wholly in favour of the rough treatment enthusiastically sounded their approval of this new development. He responded with every bit as much passion and desperation, all the while hoping that the moaning sound he could hear wasn't coming from him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience raised a hand and timidly but insistently pointed out that he was happily married to a wonderful woman who also happened to be the mother of his children, and he really probably shouldn't be doing this... But by that point his thrillseeking side had joined forces with his libido, and in short order his conscience was bound, gagged, and tucked away in the same dark, forgotten corner as 'self control' and 'common sense'.
So instead of pulling away and making a run for open air and sanity, as was almost certainly the intelligent thing to do, he grabbed a handful of cloak and tried to press himself even closer. In that moment it didn't matter about the police, or the city, or the ongoing war with the criminal element in the face of a hard, hot body moving against his and a quite unfairly talented mouth doing things that felt far too good to be legal.
The adrenaline high of a bust gone right met waves of unadulterated lust coming the other way. His brain was short-circuiting, logical thought quite beyond him, and his slightly fried mind found it no cause for alarm when he was physically turned around: he braced his forearms against the wall and readily acquiesced when a thigh insinuated itself between his legs and nudged them apart. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this, frantic and insensible, body burning with the need for something, anything. His pants were around his ankles and this was quite probably the worst idea he'd ever had, and it didn't matter - nothing mattered except sensation, not the media circus he'd return to or the blood soaking into the back of his shirt.
There was the soft thump-thump of gloves hitting the ground, and his skin tingled in anticipation for the briefest of moments before there were warm, callused hands moving rough and possessive over his hips, chest, back. He felt the sticky-warm wetness of blood - rather a lot of it, he'd be worried if his brain was functioning normally - streaking like comet-trails over his skin in the wake of exploratory fingers. He didn't realise the intent behind it until blood-slick fingers were suddenly and unexpectedly sliding inside him, and he almost cracked his skull on the metal side of the truck as he jerked in pleasure-pain-burning-FUCKyes!
He was burning up from the inside out, the tiniest movement enough to send tremors running through him. He needed...something, he wasn't even sure what, anything. "God, please," he groaned.
And then there was an arm wrapped around his hips, another braced beside his own against the wall, and sweet white-hot almost-pain as Batman...the fucking Batman...bit down hard on the back of his neck and thrust roughly inside him.
Oh fuck, yes, yes, that was it. He felt all of fourteen, gasping and frantic and absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer sensation as he was fucked hard and fast and perfect without any pretense at refinement or restraint. He was torn between the desire for this never to end and the primal, visceral need to come.
Too soon, far too soon, he felt dull tingling and wave after wave of heat spreading through his body, and knew he was close. A convulsive shudder ran through him and without warning he was jerking and gasping for breath, cries torn from his throat as the world went white and imploded. The arm tightened around his waist almost to the point of painfulness and the Batman was coming behind him with a harsh grunt and a shockingly needy moan.
Jim Gordon rested his forehead against the cold, hard metal of the armoured truck and tried to remember how to breathe. He'd just done possibly one of the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life, there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt, and as soon as the afterglow faded this was going to be one really fucking awkward conversation.
And he felt fantastic.
~Fin~
[Okay, the blood-as-lube thing? That took me by surprise a bit. My muse is apparently kinkier than I knew]